Chapter 49
XLIX.
I’ve never been inside a church. Mom’s asked me to come with her some weekends, but I’ve politely declined each time, citing the certainty that I’d burst into flames or something as I crossed the threshold.
When I don’t become an instant inferno after stepping through the doors, I release a long breath and study my surroundings.
The building is coated in shadows, the only light originating from votive candles burning along the circumference of the room. They shimmer off the stained-glass windows and statues.
Twenty or so rows of wooden pews lead toward the altar, which is unlit. The scent of candle wax mingles with incense and the lemon polish used to clean the pews.
Water trickles down my jacket and dots the red carpet as I amble toward the front, my gaze resting on a painting nestled in the domed nook to the left of the altar.
In it, an angel swathed in a blue-and-gold gown carries a bouquet of white lilies. He stares at the viewer, like he knows a secret. What draws me to him, however, are the white wings sprouting from his back. They’re nothing like mine—another reminder that I don’t belong with him, either.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I spin at the unfamiliar voice behind me. I’d been so absorbed in the painting I hadn’t heard him approach. The man’s skin is worn with age, but amusement dances through his eyes in the glow of the candlestick he grasps in his left hand.
He presses the candle into the top of a golden stand at the front of the aisle, then lowers himself into the end of the pew with a grunt. “Do you believe in angels, child?”
I laugh, and my voice echoes around us, bouncing off the walls and returning to me colder than I expected. “I do. But I also believe in something worse.”
“As do I.” He spreads his palms. “It would be impossible to have light if we didn’t also have the dark. No Heaven without Hell.” He pats the seat beside him. “Perhaps I can help you locate your own path.”
I stare at the empty spot as water collects around my feet, staining the carpet a deeper red, like the blood that pooled around Gabe’s body after Alex shot him—an image forever burned into my memory. The man smiles and gestures to the seat again.
I sink into the pew across the aisle and rest my head on the back of the bench, gazing up at the vaulted ceiling teeming with painted golden stars.
“What if there’s no way out?” I ask.
“My child, there are always choices. You carve your own path, but I’m willing to hear your story and steer you in the proper direction.”
I take a deep breath and study him in the shadows. His request doesn’t appear insincere. “It’s a long one.”
He nods at the windows. Rain taps a steady rhythm against the panes. A flash of lightning brightens the room for a moment, casting a kaleidoscope of colors along the walls.
“It’s terrible out there,” he says. “And the power went out a few hours ago. I may not have electricity, but what I do have is time.”
“If you’re sure.” I unbutton my damp jacket and shrug it off. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Start where all stories start, child. The beginning. Where did you come from?”
I frown. “You mean like, where I was born?”
“If that’s where you want to begin,” he says.
I focus on the row of candles burning over his shoulder so I don’t have to meet his eyes. “I come from…down below.”
“Australia? I don’t hear an accent.”
“No, that’s Down Under,” I say. “I come from below here. From a place no one ever wishes to see. A place people fear so much they come to buildings like this to try and avoid it.”
His eyes widen, the candlelight glinting off his pupils. “You don’t mean…?”
“I’m from Hell.”
He doesn’t move.
For a second, I’m sure he’s dead before his chest rises with a gasp.
I stand and drape the jacket over my arm, my knees shaking beneath me. “I should go. This was a bad idea.”
He holds up a hand. “I didn’t ask you to leave, did I? Keep going.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, my feet soggy inside my boots.
He hasn’t run yet, which is confusing. His eyes remain inviting, the lines on his face smoothed by the shadows.
And staying here is better than battling a storm and facing Attero right now.
I drop my jacket onto the pew and settle beside it, crossing one ankle over the other before taking a deep breath.
It takes hours to tell him everything.
I lose track of time as I detail my escape—minus the ice castle make-out session of course—the revelation of my mom’s identity, and Attero’s knock on our door.
By the time I’m done, my hair’s dry and my voice is hoarse.
The thunder and lightning stopped long ago, but rain still patters on the roof. Many of the candles have burned down to nubs, while some snuffed out with a whisper of smoke.
Through all of it, the man says nothing beyond the odd, “I see” or “keep going.” He nods and rubs his chin and shifts in his seat, but he never interrupts me and never tells me to stop.
And while his eyes widen at points, he never backs away or tries to leave.
If this man is afraid of me, he’s good at hiding it.
I lick my parched lips and study him. “And that’s how I ended up here.”
He pulls himself up with a groan and paces the aisle twice, his head bowed, mouth uttering words I cannot hear, before settling back in his seat and facing me. “You haven’t told me your name yet, child.”
I blink at him and rub my temples. “All of that, and you want to know my name?”
He waits, so I blow out a stream of air. “It’s Devica.”
“Well, then, Devica. Can I ask you one more question?”
I spread my hands. “You’re still here and you haven’t kicked me out yet, so ask anything you like.”
He leans forward. “What made you come in here?”
“I thought you’d tell me.” He gives me nothing, so I pull my jacket into my lap and fiddle with one of the buttons.
“I think I was hoping I’d find proof that I’m evil like my father.
Like, the altar would burst into flames at my presence, or you’d scream and try to perform an exorcism.
If I knew, without a doubt, that I’m a monster, I’d know I have to go home because that’s where I belong. ”
“But, my dear, evil’s not a tangible thing,” he says. “It’s simply the absence of good. Based on what you’ve told me, you’re not evil. Quite the opposite, actually.”
“But you heard who my father is, where I come from, what I’m being asked to do. How can I do his job and still be a good person?”
“Punishing bad people doesn’t make you a bad person. Those things are not equal.”
I stretch my legs across the aisle to get the feeling back into them and knock over the umbrella with my boot. Scowling, I stare at the carpet. “But I’ve done bad things. I hurt my own mother. Nate’s foster brother is dead because of me.”
He nods. “No one’s perfect. But you tried to save the young man. You apologized to your mother. And you saved this Nathan Reynolds fellow. Seems to me you did the best you could do under each circumstance.”
My heart thuds in time to the rain pounding on the windows. “So you’re saying that I shouldn’t go back there? That I don’t belong?”
He turns fully so he can meet my eyes. “I’m telling you you’re precisely the one to take your father’s place.”
I lean against the back of the pew, my jaw agape. “What? That makes no sense.”
He arches his back, and a low crack rumbles through the church.
“You are the right person because of your goodness. Because you’ve proven that you’re fair and kind.
Think of that boy you saved—condemned to eternal punishment, even though he was innocent.
With someone like you down there, that won’t happen again.
You told me yourself you can see both the good deeds and the sins in people.
That’s something your father couldn’t do.
You will make sure the people who end up below deserve to be there. ”
Visions of Alex plow through my brain. His memories that I never need to see again.
How his crimes made me sick. And how no part of me is sorry for where he is now.
If anyone deserves Lot Thirteen, it’s him.
Then I cleanse my mind with Nate’s memories.
The way he helped strangers in any way he could.
His face when he begged me to help set him free.
The relief I felt when I realized I’d gotten him out of somewhere he never belonged. And my horror when he’d been sent back.
I lick my dry lips. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”
The church is darker now; the hiss of candles sputtering out surrounds us. He’s completely in shadow, so it’s hard to make out his expression, but his body language is relaxed as he leans against the back of the pew.
“We have a habit in our lives of seeing things how we want to see them. You wanted to believe you were unable to take your father’s place because you felt it an evil calling.
And while it’s a place I hope to never see, it’s somewhere I’ve always deemed necessary.
You may not love your home or understand why you were born into it, but it has its place. ”
Standing, he pulls a new candle and a book of matches out of his pocket. He walks over to one of the candles that has fizzled down to a nub and replaces it.
“As I first told you when you came in, it is necessary for there to be darkness in order for there to be light.” He strikes the match and holds it to the wick until it catches. “This doesn’t make the dark bad. The two work in unison to create balance. They are, in fact, equally good.”
I follow the dancing flame with my eyes. “So you are saying I should go home.”
“I’m saying you should go where you’re most needed.” He shakes his hand until the match goes out.
“What about Nate?” I ask. “And my mother? I’m supposed to give up the only two people I love because of genetics?”
He drops the box of matches into his pocket. “You mentioned your father visited this place many times over the years. Why couldn’t you do the same? If your love for this Nate fellow is as strong as you say, you’ll find a way to make it work.”
I wrap my arms around myself and stare past him. “But could he even love someone who does what I do?”
The man smiles. “From the sounds of it, he already loves you for who you are, which is more important than what you do. Love has the ability to overcome even the darkest of circumstances.”
I study him in the candlelight. His eyes dance with the flickering flames, his lips pressed into a kind smile that doesn’t contort to fear when he steps closer to me.
“I don’t think I’ve met anyone like you,” I say.
He holds out the umbrella and winks. “I might say the same about you.”
“Very true.” We laugh together, and I step out of the pew as the sound echoes around the church.
“Thank you. You’ve been incredibly helpful—which is probably the biggest surprise I’ve had since coming to Earth.
And I’ve dealt with a mother I believed to be dead, a boyfriend who did die—twice—a murderous foster brother, and a demon showing up at my door. ”
“You’re welcome, child.” He walks with me to the door. “If anything, you gave me company through the storm. Take care of yourself. And please don’t take this the wrong way, but I very much hope never to see you again.”
I take his outstretched hand, and the good deeds of his life travel across my vision. “I doubt you will. Keep it up.” I wink at him and release his hand as the church floods with light. “It looks like your power’s back.”
He eyes the gold lamps dangling from the ceiling. “See? From the darkness came light. But I did rather enjoy my time in the dark. It gave me much to ponder. Good night, Devica.”
“Good night…” I crease my eyebrows. “Wait, what was your name?”
“Malachi.” He smiles. “But you can call me Mal.”
I match his grin. “Thanks…Mal. You’ve been very helpful.”
The rain’s barely a trickle by the time I exit the church, so I don’t bother with the umbrella.
I pick up speed as I head back to Mom’s house, my heart loud as the thunder that battered the church.
For the first time in my life, I know where I belong.